Curtain Call
by Aeslynx
Summary: When one door closes, another one opens. There's no guarantee the road beyond is any kinder than the last. (Semi-SI as Edolas Ultear)
1. Freedom: Prison Break

**Curtain Call**

 _by Aeslynx_

* * *

 **Freedom: Prison Break**

* * *

 **The** building is on fire, and it is all my fault.

"… _security mages, the escaped subject is in the South Wing. Subject is armed and dangerous. This is not a drill. Subject Red-Zero-Sigma, return to your containment cell immediately. Message repeats. Notice all royal security mages, the escaped subject is…"_

The realization makes me laugh, loud and free and more than a little crazy. That's good. Crazy's good. Screaming through the sterile white halls like a maniac and leaving a trail of blood and broken bodies is far superior to weepy depression. I'd never escape if I gave in to that kind of toxic despair, and I'll be damned I don't escape. Not after all this effort. Not after all I've gone through.

 _Step Three: Head to the basement._ I don't hesitate, all-but flying down the nearest stairwell. I skip five steps in seven, a truly herculean feat with these tiny legs of mine, and feel guiltier for breaking one of Momma's old rules than for orchestrating a prison break.

The scum who work here don't deserve my remorse. All they deserve is a slow death.

I spy a card-carrying member of said scum halfway down. It's a standard security guard, with the trademark navy blue coat, funky sci-fi helmet, and full-face scarf. A magic sword hangs at his hip. Rookie mistake: in a crisis, it should already be in his hand.

A dangerous smile splits my face at the thought. I am the crisis. I'm going to enjoy this.

Gravity and momentum are on my side. Not wasting a second to talk myself out of it, I leap, hurtling down the cramped stairwell like a falling meteor. I don't bother orienting myself in some kind of kick, instead forcing my body to slacken and crash into him like the fun-sized ragdoll I am. He collapses, aping a puppet with its strings cut to the soundtrack of his skull breaking against the steel floor.

Mercy is the domain of the strong, and I have neither the strength nor the inclination to be gentle in victory. No time for it, either. My amateur duck-and-roll fails against the cold steel of the wall, and my breath and sight are stolen from me both. I struggle, fueled by the desperation afforded only to those who are tumbling off the line between life and death. By the time I stumble to my feet, I can hear a full squad homing in on my position and know I have lost far too much time.

 _Nothing for it, then,_ I think, and grab the late guard's blade. It's too large for my childish hands, but that doesn't matter. I'm not planning on cutting someone up with it, therapeutic though it may be. Instead, I twist the power knob on the handle to max, hit the timed release, and begin spinning like a dog chasing its own tail. Then, like one of those Olympic athletes with the weird disk things, I release the blade.

I don't bother watching it soar up the staircase. I know it worked the second I hear the sound of a thousand Fourth of July fireworks all going off at once far, far too close for comfort. When it's immediately followed by the screams of the damned and dying, all I can do is smile with vicious, sick satisfaction.

If I were a Hollywood action hero starring in a summer blockbuster, this is the part where I'd shed a tear and slowly walk away. As it is, I'm already the rest of the way down the staircase and aren't sparing my victims a third thought. I'll shed that tear later, when I know the hesitation won't get me murdered or, worse, stuck back in my white cell. Maybe. We'll see, if all goes well.

 _Step Four: Find the source room._ This is where things get tricky. Carving my way through an army is one thing. Going into it, I knew that I was almost certainly going to die, but with luck I knew it was possible. The source room is something I've only heard of from the uncensored whispers of bored security guards who didn't consider the dead-eyed girl in the next cell over to be a flight risk. None of them have ever seen it, and for all I know it doesn't actually exist. If that's true, then this jailbreak was for nothing.

 _Not nothing,_ I correct myself harshly. _I'd rather die like a dog then spend another day in that cell._

Resolution reaffirmed, I shove open the basement door with my shoulder and immediately tumble sideways. A lightning bolt shrieks right through where my head was a moment before and makes my hair dance with static electricity. I scream, partly to startle and distract but mostly just to scream, and charge forward staying as low to the ground as I can.

I see the flash of a second bolt and wonder where the thunder is when I realize I can't hear it over the blood pounding in my ears. The pain staggers in a moment later and my knees buckle, nerves alight with more volts than any human being should suffer from. The pain is what I once theorized the Cruciatus Curse to feel like, but real, and interspersed with stripes of far more worrying numbness. It's like being stabbed with a thousand knives. It's like being struck by lightning and oh _God,_ I was just struck by fucking lightning.

Desperate, horrified, and more than a little vengeful, I jerk forwards and limply body tackle my would-be executioner. I doubt it hurt more than a corgi aggressively trying to hug him, but he screams, too, and I realize the magic staff in his hand is still on. I should probably fix that.

My hand lashes out blindly, only half under my control, shoving against his face like an annoying older sister would. He sputters and stumbles back, the dull smack of his ass hitting the floor the only sound in the sudden silence. He tries to stand back up, twitches, and collapses back onto the floor.

The sliver of my mind that's still mired in lucidity commands me to make a grab for the staff. I do, and violently bash my aggressor over the skull with it. The not-rubber handle in the middle is all that's stopping the electricity coursing down its length from being pumped into me, too. Half in sadism and half in caution, I only stop once his skin begins to sizzle and the fresh round of screams die down.

In an effort to preserve the battery life, I flick the power halfway down on purpose and fire a lance of bolt lightning at him on accident. Well, it was mostly an accident. …Okay, at least half an accident.

A lingering flicker of electricity races up my spine and, when I come to, I'm leaning against the staff like an impromptu cane. The still very much electrifying staff. Freezing, I very carefully reach for the knob and turn the power all the way down, flicking the off switch as I do.

Theoretically speaking, magic electricity isn't quite as lethal as real electricity. It's not actual electricity, after all, merely ethernano masquerading as it. But, as I lack a wizard's innate resilience to that kind of thing, it's still utterly crippling. After being cooked so thoroughly, I won't be able to defeat another mage without a healthy dose of luck. I wasn't relying on it enough already, apparently.

It takes me a long moment to start walking again, and even then I'm still fighting full-body twitches. I spend that moment strip-searching the guard, and breathe a sigh of relief when I find a map of the lowest level in his pocket. He's either new here, or… I open it up and suck on my teeth. Yeah. I can see why he'd need a map.

The Bureau is designed like a freaking corn maze down here. It doesn't follow a nice, sensible grid like the other floors, instead branching off from various stairwells like a Rorschach blot. It's utterly impossible to get anywhere in any reasonable amount of time. The architect was either too clever for his own good, drunk, or, judging by the strange layering effect near the back, decided to draw inspiration from an Escher painting.

I take what time I dare to scan the thing with suspicious eyes, trying to find anything out of place. Unluckily, there's no clearly labeled _Source Room_ for me to march towards. Nor is there any other variation of it I can think of. Growling, it's only when I see an entire section labeled simply _Beware – Heavy Machinery – Clearance Required_ that I realize I'm being dumb.

I awkwardly hobble down the sterile white walls with the map in one hand and the staff in the other. My stride is rapid but quiet, and I stick to the walls like one of those leech things rich people keep in their fish tanks. I'm utterly silent save for my ragged breathing and the jackhammer impression of my heart, and I can't comprehend why it's not echoing through the halls. Where's the rest of the security? Surely those I haven't burned yet realized I've come downstairs, by now? I don't see or hear anyone and all it does is make me twitchier.

I hadn't realized earlier, but the blaring alarm isn't being broadcast down here. I'm not sure if the architect thought there was no need to include a sound system underground or if there's a more sinister reason. I try not to put too much thought into it, and instead fixate on my hearing and the map in my hand. If there is something going on in the control center, there's nothing I can do about it this far into my escape.

I eventually come to a sign on a heavy, shatter-proof door. _Cleaning Supplies_ , it reads, and I look down at the _Heavy Machinery_ advisory on my map with a bemused eyebrow. I can't help but huff an exhausted laugh. It's like the upper management here was trying to be cliché. Mad science experiments, sci-fi faceless uniforms, and now this? _Please,_ I think, _do put some effort into your cackling villainy, Faust._

The door is locked with some fancy-looking technology and is far too thick and heavy to break down. Beginning to panic at the completely obvious complication that has utterly blind-sided me, I tentatively award my captors some self-awareness points. When it pops open after I fire a desperate bolt of lightning at the key-pad, I gleefully take the points back. I can understand not wanting to lock themselves out of their source of magical power every time said magical power runs out, but they really did not think this through.

I shove the door the rest of the way open and laugh triumphantly at what I see on the other side. I'd been sure this was it after seeing the mismatched sign, but a part of me still worried and bit at metaphorical fingernails. Looks like my karma really is starting to balance. I can only hope the broken bodies I've left behind me don't swing it the other way.

What I see is a floating, metallic platform extending into a large chamber, surrounded by the statues of three nameless sages. Their arms are extended as if hugging the humming, luminescent, sky-blue orb hanging from the metal scaffolding. I recognize this place from my dim memories of an anime and my far clearer dreams of freedom. It's a replica of the Anima Chamber below the Edolas Castle, but smaller and less powerful.

To be brutally honest, I didn't think it existed. I hoped it did and planned around it being real, but my vague impressions from the show made it seem like the one below Faust's castle was the only one in existence. However, the Bureau is a closed-circuit and top secret research institute, and they need to get magical power somehow. A couple throwaway lines from security guards and more than a little desperation-fueled self-delusion saw me gambling on it anyway.

And, if I failed? I had decided that I was going to seek my freedom, today. Dead or alive, I would be free. If this secondary Anima Chamber didn't exist, then I would have hurled myself out a window. At least I could see the sun one last time before the end.

" _Red-Zero-Sigma! Halt!"_

Looks like I'm out of time. I aim my staff at the light, raise it to full power, and fire. Either it'll explode and the entire Bureau will self-destruct, brutally killing everyone inside, or it'll activate and I'll wake up in Earthland. I'm fine with either eventuality.

" _Sigma! Last warning!"_

Silent white light fills the world.

* * *

 **Freedom: Prison Break**

* * *

 **I** wake up, which is a surprise. I immediately realize that I'm too exhausted to move, both physically and mentally, which isn't.

I just sort of… revel in the freedom. Sunshine on my skin, wind in my black-violet hair, things like that. I used to hate when grass would slip up my shirt, but it feels blissful. Tired eyes open to the sight of an ordinary evergreen tree, and it is the most beautiful tree I have ever seen.

The deeper realizations come after. The first one is that I'll never have to see endless, sterile white walls again. The second is that I'll never have to see a heartless man in a white lab coat again, either. The third is that I'll never be struck by another Edolas security guard again, too, and I start to laugh and don't stop until I'm gasping for breath and tears are leaking from my eyes.

They weren't all bad, of course. There was one security guard who was… not unkind. I don't know his name, his face, or why he would talk to me after particularly excruciating experiments. Maybe he had a little sister and sympathized. Maybe he had a hidden streak of kindness whispering in his ear. Or, maybe, he was just bored. I don't know, and I don't want to find out. For as long as it remains a mystery, I can lie to myself and say he cared.

He would give me long sticks of chalk, and for years I would scrawl my thoughts on the featureless white walls of my cell. I'd roughly sketch sinuous dragons winding around passages of bleak fears, or childish suns shining down on my happier dreams of the future, few as they were. I'd write and draw and just black out my space until not an inch was left, then I'd wipe it all clean with my spit and scratchy hospital dress and start over.

Then, one day, he made a stupid, rookie mistake. The whitecoats had gone overboard again, and I'd been all but catatonic in my cell. He'd slipped me a fresh stick of chalk, and I went berserk. I bit off the end and shoved the jagged remains into his chest, screaming all the while, vision overtaken by bloody red.

I hope he survived. There's a part of me that hopes he didn't.

I hate them all. Nineteen in twenty never raised a hand against me, but twenty in twenty refused to raise a hand to free me, too. How does that old quote go? _"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing?"_ Something like that. I don't know if any of them were good men, but all of them did nothing. That alone makes them worthy of my undying enmity.

I honestly don't know how I held onto as much sanity as I had. I suspect Edolas-Brain was a little more eager with the Mind Magic than he would admit. Entire seasons of memories are just… missing. Pain and pleasure would spontaneously reverse, and the experiments would actually become enjoyable, if not downright blissful. Then, when I was a particularly good subject, he would fabricate fake memories of Momma and let me live them for weeks.

Maybe that was all me, though. My mind is pretty messed up. Waking reincarnation would do that to a girl. The whole 'being murdered' part was pretty tragic; I'm not going to lie. The 'being reborn' part wasn't very fun, either. Finding out I was born in an alien world with magic and sci-fi technology, and it starred in one of my favorite anime? That was horrifying.

What came after wasn't, though. Momma… I'd have burned down the world for that woman. All she had to do was ask.

Then I got sick and she sold me to the Bureau. You think you know a person.

"…Damn," I swear, voice rough from screaming and disuse. "What's with all the maudlin talk? I'm free, damn it. I'm free." I lost enough to Edolas. I'm not going to give it my future in Earthland, too.

With that in mind, Istagger to my feet and look for civilization. All I find are dirt, various plants, and the occasional flying rat. I may not have thought this through.

I spent sleepless years in my cell planning my breakout, but none of that time on what I would do after. Not seriously, anyway. I didn't believe in my chances enough to risk getting my hopes up. All I have are vague dreams sketched onto my cell wall.

Join guild. Learn magic. Get so powerful you can never be hurt again.

Easier said than done.

The sun begins to fall and I orient myself west, singing the juvenile eenie-meenie-miney-moe song to choose a cardinal point at random. I set off, thunder staff, bloodied hospital smock, and happy thoughts my only protection against any angry wildlife or monsters that might want to snack on a little girl. I fire more than a few lightning bolts at rabbits that come too close, trigger finger aching and twitchy.

It's hell. It's also the most peaceful day I've had in years. I can see living creatures that aren't armed with scalpels or magic weapons, colors that aren't white or navy blue, and food that isn't bread and a half-dozen vitamins. Most of it is probably poisonous, but it looks a fair sight tastier and, really, isn't that all that matters?

Then night falls and with it, my smile. I'm a small child who hasn't run outside of a carefully monitored treadmill in years. Even if this seemingly endless forest doesn't contain all manner of hungry creatures, I'm in danger of going hungry myself. I don't know what I can eat and what I can't, I have no idea how to find water at all let alone a clean source of it, and my experience with creating shelter begins and ends with pillow forts on movie night. I'm screwed.

I eye my stolen magic staff with an appreciative gaze. I have no idea when its battery or lacrima or whatever will die, but it's a damn sight more versatile than a stun baton. If I ratchet up the power and fire it into the sky, I could draw any people in the area to me like moths to a flame. There's no guarantee they'll be good people, but I'm not feeling particularly picky. Getting pressganged into a dark guild is still better than starving to death on my first day of freedom.

"Nothing for it." I twist the dial until it clicks in protest, flick the switch from 'volt' back to 'lance,' and fire it into the sky. And then I fire it again, and again, and again, and again, until the thunder staff starts to angrily vibrate in my white-fingered grip. Then I fire it one last time for luck and have to drop it with a hiss.

The boomstick's lances of lightning are a lot less pretty to look at than an actual flare gun's would be. It's all flash and no fire, the bolts streaking off into the sky instead of lingering to show off my position. Assuming I'm not loudly devoured by wolves in the next five minutes, I'll have to fire it again so any observers can actually find me. That's fine – hopefully the snap and crackle will scare off said wolves.

Since Momma taught me to always stay still when I wander off and get lost, I clumsily scale a tree and find a high-hanging branch to rest on. The foliage in this forest is huge, the branch I'm lying on easily a good six, seven times as wide across as I am. They must be ancient, or feed off magic, or both. It's incredible, and the air tastes almost unnaturally fresh. This world just seems so much more alive than Edolas.

"It's because of the ethernano," a voice says, and I shriek in response. Reflex has me swinging the still-overheated boomstick around and firing it at point-blank range, the setting still locked at full power. The branch explodes, wooden shrapnel and two children sent surfing across the sky on a wave of kinetic force. This time, my Hollywood somersault doesn't crash against a wall and I'm able to stumble to my feet with relative ease.

Clarity returns with sudden sharpness and the sight of another magic staff aimed at my center mass. I've lost, I realize with dull horror, before the fight has even begun. With my lack of experience, this is like one of those wild west quickdraw shootouts, but the enemy already has his drawn. If I make a move towards my weapon, he'll fire and I'll be fucked, just like that.

Then I take a closer look and my eyes widen. "Prince Jellal?" He has the blue hair, the red facial stigma, and the gentle face,exactly like I remember seeing on the television when I was young. Then my past life's memories start to trickle in, and I see the bandaged staves and the heavy, dark blue clothing, and come to a similar but altogether different conclusion:Mystogan.

Conversely, his eyes narrow. "Edolas." He takes notice of my bloodied hospital smock, obvious youth, and general weariness. "What have they done to you?"

A smile. It's a small thing, tired and slight, but is the most genuine positive emotion I've shown since Momma walked away. "Lots."

He doesn't seem amused, but he does lower the staff. "Is now really the time for snark?"

"Always."

His lips quirk slightly at my response, and I count that one as a win. "Nice try. Specifics, if you would."

...I could lie, but there's no point. I doubt I could muster the energy to care even if there was. "Underneath the Edolas Bureau of Magical Development. Five years." I don't tell him who put me there. "Escaped. Found Anima Chamber. Here I am."

Jellal closes his eyes. "That explains how they've been casting it simultaneously, at times. Damn."

He doesn't make mention of my depressing past, for which I'm thankful. I'm repressing pretty badly right now. When he does open his eyes, they're set firmly on the future.

"Am I right to assume the lightshow was a call for help? I can find you someplace to live."

"I'd… I'd like that." I awkwardly cough into my hand in a vain attempt to cover up my relief. Time to change the subject. "How'd you find me? Teleport?"

"No, of course not. I'll explain, but we need to begin our walk now if we wish to reach my camp before sunrise."

He sheds his thick coat and wraps it around my shoulders, a true gentleman, and I freeze in place. ( _"Bundle up, sweetie," came the kind voice, "It's cold outside, and we can't have you getting sick, can we?"_ ) He quirks an eyebrow at my reaction but seems to understand, casting a dark glance at the hint of smock peeking through the collar of the coat. Instead, he gently grasps my hand and pulls me along through the forest.

"The Anima merely feels instantaneous," he eventually explains. "In truth, it takes several days. With my experience and these staves, I can sense the first stirrings of that magic and track it, assuming I'm within a week's travel." He lights his staff with luminescent magic, as if he was Gandalf the Grey. It makes the smile he flashes me seem all the more striking. "Good thinking with the flares. I had no idea anyone came through the Anima, and came running as fast as I could once I saw them."

I look down shyly. Social contact is rare for me; kind social contact, even rarer. An outright complement... gods, I'm a wreck. "Th-thank you, my prince."

Jellal ruffles my hair. "Think nothing of it, ah… I'm sorry, I was rude. My name is Jellal, as you know. What's yours? And how old are you?"

"Red-Zero-Sigma, twelve years and forty-nine days," I say automatically. His demeanor instantly darkens, and I flinch back. "S-sorry."

His hand in mine feels like a lead weight, but he traces soothing circles in my palm as an apology. "You have nothing to be sorry for, but… do you not have a name from before the Bureau? I can't call you such an impersonal thing."

I look him in the eyes and lie. "None that I remember."

"You…" He sighs. "You do not need to deceive me. If you don't want to talk about it, I'll understand. We all have our demons. But I do need a name to call you by, and Sigma… will not do."

At that, I turn away. I'm not ashamed – I don't think I can feel shame anymore – but something in his dark eyes makes my heart rail against itself. "I… I can't. Sigma I survived. The other name… I… I didn't."

He stills. "Your family, they… I see." He works his mouth, but no sound comes out. "So it's like that. I will name you myself, then, if you do not mind."

"…Please."

He stops moving, then, and pulls me into a warm hug. I freeze- but the soothing beat behind his chest relaxes me, and I melt into it. In that moment, he held my heart in his hand, and with a single, whispered word, he could have crushed it.

He didn't.

"Amity," he says. "It means 'friendship' and 'harmony.' Whenever someone says your name, think of me, and know that you will never be alone or abandoned again. I'll always be here for you, even when I'm on the other side of the continent." He smiles, and it takes my breath away. "Do you like it?"

I bury my head in his chest and cry. No one will ever call me Ultear again.

* * *

 **Freedom: Prison Break**

* * *

 _A Semi-SI as Edolas Ultear. What have I done._


	2. Freedom: Winter's Fury

**Curtain Call**

 _by Aeslynx_

* * *

 **Freedom: Winter's Fury**

* * *

 **The** time I spend traversing the Worth Woodsea with Prince Jellal is the single greatest week of my life. It is not because he teaches me, though he does, or because he is leading me to a safe place to say, though he is doing that, too. It is because he's just so… kind. I want to follow him forever.

But I can't, so I instead decide to learn the skills needed to be of use to him in the future, if I cannot be now.

"We are not like the mages of Earthland, Amity," he explains on the first day, when I ask him to teach me magic. "We do not have an ethernano container within us like they do. For Caster-Type Magic, this is crippling, as it is for most kinds of Holder-Type Magic. That being said, there is a narrow discipline of magic where we excel."

I blink at him lazily, belying my interest in his lecture. "Hoh?"

"The weakest artifacts have an internal battery lacrima, and are thus unreliable and underwhelming. Most useful artifacts instead channel the magic of their wielder, shaping the spell for the mage but not powering it. Naturally, neither kind suits our needs." He then taps the bandaged staff at his back fondly. "However, some few artifacts instead draw in the natural ethernano currents of the world, and color them as if they were magical containers themselves."

"Color?" I ask. Momma was a skilled mage, by Edolas standards, but the Bureau happened before she could do more than begin my magical education. Everything else I learned, I absorbed through listening in on the researchers who experimented on me. Naturally, it was a haphazard education at best. "I don't understand, my prince."

Prince Jellal hums. "Ethernano cannot be sensed with any great deal of accuracy, so most of this is theory. However, it is well known that a mage who devotes himself to a single element of magic will become more efficient and powerful when casting magic with that same element, but become less efficient and powerful when casting other kinds of magic. This is why most mages pick a branch of magic to specialize in, and then never, ever turn away from it. There are exceptions, of course – this only applies to elements like fire or gravity, and not unique spells like the Seals of Amaterasu or Thought Projections.

"The idea goes that a mage instinctively transforms 'blank' ethernano into, say, 'fire' ethernano when they cast a fire spell. The more they cast fire magic, the more the 'fire' ethernano 'colors' the wizard's magical container. After a while, the container becomes so saturated with that 'color' that it attunes the ethernano for the mage automatically, and does it better and quicker than the mage ever could."

"I see," I say. True understanding will probably come only with experience, but it seems like a simple enough concept. "Your staff is an artificial magical container."

He smiles proudly, ruffling my hair in that infuriating but oddly pleasing way of his. "Got it in one. It's not as deep as a mage's nor is it as adaptable, being created with only Sensory Magic in mind, but I can always carry more in the future for other kinds. Even more importantly, using it doesn't exhaust me magically like a Sensory Mage would be – so I can, theoretically, fight forever."

"Why so rare, then?" I pause. "Wait, excel?"

"That's the same question. If an Earthland mage wanted to use a staff like mine, he would need to completely divorce his ability to control magic with the magic in his container, lest his innate 'color' taint the artifact's and weaken it. If he lost control completely in a moment of weakness, he'd break it irrevocably. An Earthland mage who wanted to use such an artifact would have to fight himself every step of the way. Naturally, lacking magic of our own, we don't have this problem."

"Hmm. Finding one must be hard."

"I can imagine. This staff I claimed from the vaults beneath the Edolas Castle, but I doubt another one will so eagerly make itself known to me." He sounds mournful, but understanding. "Truth be told, I'm not sure this kind of artifact exists at all in Earthland. The kind of artifact that channels a mage's own magic is so obviously superior for them in almost every way, that I would be surprised if the idea existed outside of a scholar's lockbox."

I purse my lips. Didn't Mystogan have, like, half a dozen in the anime?

"So," my prince continues with a thoughtful frown on his face, "We'll just have to make our own."

Aah, that would explain it. "How?"

"Thankfully, I brought a number of books from the same vault with me when I left Edolas. They're mostly filled with the minutia of crafting just such an artifact, but the materials needed for the construction are all on the front page." He huffs a laugh. "In short, we need everything. The base needs to be magically null so it's not tainted by another mage's colored ethernano, but also magically void so it can be saturated in the environment's ethernano without resistance. The core is where the container aspect comes in, and can't be made, only taken from a living monster, the stronger the better. Several rare lacrima need to be embedded within the base to channel and store the flow of magic, too. It is… very complicated."

I look up at him. "Can I…?"

"I'll help you make your first, Amity," he responds easily. "You don't need to ask. It'd be rather cruel of me not to. You need a core from a monster to make a staff, after all, but you'd need a staff to defeat a monster and get a core. I consider it my duty to help you break into that cycle."

Hesitantly, I reach out and grab his hand. "Thank you, my prince."

He smiles. "No worries. But if we're going to craft you a weapon, I need to know you can wield it safely."

He then lectures and quizzes me on weapon safety and construction until the sun falls and we set up camp for my second night in Earthland, only to pick up again once we're done. To be fair, raising camp isn't particularly difficult – it's more a matter of scaling an immense, sprawling tree and spreading a thick blanket across the largest branch then any delicate work with a tent. He doesn't have one, after all, and I didn't leave the Bureau prepared for a camping trip.

I do have to wonder if the heavy blue robes he draped me in are enchanted, though. They're irrationally easy to maneuver in, and he kept pulling vials of elixir and strange materials out of pockets I hadn't realized it had, while I was wearing it. There's no way all that should be able to fit in there. By the end, there's a row of expensive-looking materials spread out on a tablecloth between us, and an air of palpable expectation.

"This was all for you," I realize after a moment. It's obvious, with how conveniently he has a near complete set of materials in his pockets the day after we met. He must have dedicated countless hours to acquiring it all. "I… I can't take it-"

"Oh, you will," Prince Jellal says with casual certainty, but his eyes are unflinching. "You're becoming a dear friend to me, Amity. I won't be here to protect you forever, and when trouble inevitable worms its way back into your life, I want you to be able to protect yourself. In Earthland, that means magical power. All of this?" He makes a sweeping gesture over the expensive materials. "It's pricy, to be sure, but the life of a friend is priceless. There's not a doubt in my mind that this is the right decision."

I cover my blushing face with the heavy blue cloth, thrilled despite myself.

He glances at the emerging full moon. "No time like the present, I suppose. First, do I have your permission to harvest your Lightning Rod for materials? It's very high quality, and some of the lacrima inside may be superior than what I have here."

"Of course. Whatever you need."

"Thank you, Amity." He slides the tablecloth aside and presses a new one down in between us, this one marked with a crescent design. With an ease that speaks of long practice, he dismantles my boomstick and arranges its inner workings around the cloth, various lacrima and arcane technology pulsing with electric yellow luminescence. "Impressive. This artifact is masterfully crafted, and the materials inside it are of impeccable quality. Where did you come across it, if I may ask?"

"I looted it from a security guard that attacked me," I immediately respond. "He hit me with a lightning bolt when I was breaking out, so I took it from him and hit him back."

Prince Jellal blinks, startled. "I… see. Did he survive?"

"Probably. I just knocked him out." And cooked him afterwards, but he was wearing armor and Edolas has a strong medical discipline. He'd empty his wallet on a few elixirs and be right as rain in a couple years.

"Of course. I apologize for asking," he says. I blink, but nod in acceptance. "Back to the matter at hand, these materials will certainly be useful, but there's one last question that needs to be answered before we can start."

"Hoh?"

"What kind of staff do you want to make?"

"Like… yours is Sensory." I nod when he hums in agreement. "What are my options?"

"The wonderful thing about this kind of artifact is that you can pick anything. It's not your container, after all, but an artificial one built into your staff," he explains. "There are some things to keep in mind, however. The hair of a Vulcan will excel in Take-Over Magic, despite not being particularly strong. Conversely, I wouldn't recommend something obscure like Take-Over for your first staff, because you'll still need to learn how to shape the magic yourself and without a teacher or a book on the discipline, it's going to be far more difficult than it has any right to be."

"Logical," I commend. Then, "One thing, though. How does the hair of a Vulcan have the entire creature's magical container in it?"

"Good question. It's because of a very special knife." He taps the handle of what appears to be a jagged shard of black, molten glass, laid out on the first cloth beside other strange items. "A mage or monster's magical container is an organ made entirely out of ethernano, and as such doesn't have a specific home inside of their body like a heart or stomach do. However, because ethernano naturally wants to spread out evenly through a process kind of like osmosis, it'll be drawn towards a magically void material. A blade of obsidian is one such material, and can be used to sort of 'pull' the beast's container into a specific organ or body part; then, when it is used to sever said body part, the harvested material will contain almost all of the monster's magical potential."

"That…" sounds fascinating. "…seems horrifically illegal."

"When used on a mage, yes. When used on a monster, it is the basis for many powerful lacrima."

Is that how Dragon Slayer Lacrima are made? Draw a dragon's magic into a scale or horn or something, then cut it off and leave the dragon either dead, a squib, or a dead squib? Because, that sounds barbaric. Still, that being said… "What cores can I use?"

"A leaf from a hamadryad's tree," he begins, gesturing towards a burnt orange, strangely vibrant leaf. "Dryads aren't generally considered monsters, but half of this one's tree was absorbed by an Anima. She was maddened and started laying waste to the forest, and I was forced to put her down. They're notoriously hard to kill, though, and with only Sensory Magic at my disposal I had to rely on the obsidian." He pauses. "The core determines the staff's starting point, so to speak, and it is how the staff is used that determines what it becomes specialized for. A leaf like this one can make a decently powerful Wood Magic or Sympathy Magic staff."

Sympathy, huh? That must be how he was able to use all five of his staves simultaneously in the Five-Layered Magic Circle something-or-other, and also how he can hit multiple people with such a powerful Sleep spell. I'll have to check it out, one day, but for a first weapon? "Pass. Thank you."

"You are welcome. Next, the scale of a blizzardvern." His lips tighten. "I took it from a traveling poacher I found just south of here. Blizzardverns are dangerous and territorial, but they are also passive to those who keep a respectful distance. This one was either maddened, or was intended to be used in some dark ritual. As such, I… appropriated it."

Understandable. He is the Prince, after all. "Ice Magic, I presume?"

"Likely. Maybe Winter Magic, if it leans more towards weather than freezing or constructs. Only time will tell. From what little my Sensory Magic is informing me, it was harvested properly and belonged to a juvenile of the species, so it should be fairly balanced in terms of power and adaptability."

Momma used Ice Magic. Her heavy layers of clothing were all magic weapons, and she was a terror on the battlefield in the early days of the ban on magic. There's a part of me that wants to hiss and choose the leaf just to distance myself from her even more, but there's another, shyer part, that wants something I can think of as hers on me at all times.

Stupid. Why would I hurt myself like that? She gave me away to the Bureau, why do I _care?_ I shouldn't. I should want nothing more than to further alienate myself by choosing something completely unrelated to her. The very thought of making my first and most important magic _Ice Magic_ of all things should be disgusting and repulsive.

"I'd like the scale," I find myself saying anyway, face affecting reserved, scholarly interest and nothing more. "If that's all right with you."

"Of course." Prince Jellal doesn't seem to notice my split thoughts. "Watch carefully, alright? I won't be here to help you with your second staff. I'll record the books with a video lacrima for you to take with you, but nothing beats hands-on experience."

"Thank you, but, hm. There's no base."

"Isn't there?" He seems sly. He then stands up, knife in hand, and hacks down a long, thin branch from the immense ash-white tree we made our camp on. "I didn't choose here to spend the night for nothing, you know. We detoured several hours out of our way to make sure you got the best ghostwood in the Woodsea for your first staff. Springy but not weak, a uniform texture and coloration, and a high threshold for magical saturation? I think I'll use the same wood for my next staff, too."

I smile. "That's very sweet of you."

He begins to quickly but carefully whittle the ghostwood into a long, thin staff, about as wide across as a nickel and only a little shorter than I am. "Thank you, I try." He hums, deep in his throat. "I'm making it a simple quarterstaff for right now, sized down to fit your youth and without the metal at the ends. As you grow taller, you're going to want to update your staff to better fit your combat style, build, and general preferences for such things. I'd recommend a khakkhara, a sounding staff, as the metal ornamentation at the end can be easily replaced with a focal lacrima and the rings can be enchanted for all sorts of interesting effects. You could always go for something a bit more martial, of course, like a trident or a spear. It's really up to you, but you have a few years yet before you begin to outgrow your staff as it'll be now."

"Mm. It won't be… fragile, will it? I can block and strike with it?"

"Naturally. There will inevitable come a time when you're called on to give someone a crash course in the school of hard knocks, and it would be very embarrassing if your staff snapped against someone's skull." Prince Jellal seems amused, but isn't distracted from his work. It goes surprisingly quickly – I suspect he's using his Sensory Magic to determine exactly where and what to cut – since he's soon handing it over to me to hold. "Swing it for me? I want to make sure I have the proportion right."

I do so awkwardly, feeling silly. My experience with magic staves begins and ends with cracking one against that security guard's face earlier. "It… feels fine? Sorry, I can't…"

"It's okay. I think I got it about right, and that's close enough. There's little point in making sure the dimensions are exact when you're going to be shooting up in inches pretty soon, anyway." He clucks his tongue absently and takes the staff back. "Don't worry about the weight. The lacrima I'm about to embed will balance it anyway."

"Will it be really heavy?"

"Not… _really._ Lacrima are fairly solid, but I wouldn't call them _heavy_. It'll be a trial and a half to carry the staff around everywhere for the first few years, though. I've been in Earthland for a good few months now and heaven knows I'm worried about having to lug two or three more. They _are_ weapons and, as such, have a pretty decent weight behind them."

He traces the clearly enchanted knife against the wood lengthwise, splitting it symmetrically with flawless precision. He then begins to carve out a series of seven hollows in the wood, on both pieces, spaced evenly apart with the first and seventh right at the tips. He doesn't bother with measurements or calculations or anything of the sort, and I have to remind myself that he's not winging it, he's skipping the drudge work with copious use of magic.

"Since quarterstaves like this one are designed to be horizontally symmetrical as well as vertically," he continues after a moment, and begins carving a shining white lacrima into two thin cylinders, "We're going to place a gateway lacrima at both ends. This is where the magic of the world is channeled into the magic of the staff, so it needs to be selectively permeable. That way, it can close itself off against tainted or colored ethernano while simultaneously opening itself up to the blank ethernano you need to power your spells. It also needs to be able to draw in magic from the environment, naturally."

"How does it do that?" If lacrima could charge themselves that easily, I don't see how so many need batteries.

"I honestly have no idea," he says, smirking lightly. "Most lacrima are closed circuits, but this one seems to be an open circuit. It can't draw on environmental ethernano by itself, though. It needs to be done manually. That's where the third lacrima comes in, but that's for later."

I watch as he finishes carving the lacrima and carefully settles them into the hollows at either end of the staff. They slide right in, perfectly fitted. "The second and sixth hollows will also match?"

"That's right." He gently lifts another lacrima, this one shimmering with all the colors of the kaleidoscope. It's the one he had taken out of your boomstick. "After the gateway where the magic is drawn in, comes the lens where the magic is amplified. It's like a telescope, if you've ever seen one, or a pair of glasses. The stream of magic is magnified and accelerated, thus making the spells you cast with the staff more powerful. It's a must-have for a magic weapon, since it helps equalize the difference between a mere tool and an Earthland mage's innate potential. The only downside is a loss in control, but for a tool like this, control can be learned. Power not always can be."

Once he finishes carving and embedding the split lacrima in my staff, Prince Jellal picks up a third crystal. This one looks like someone started to smelt down a variety of metals, only to get bored and wander off, leaving the half-formed ingot looking like a tie-dye project done entirely in rusty reds, browns, grays, and blacks.

"After the gateway and the amplifier, where magic is drawn and empowered, comes the control nexus. Since the magic of the staff is not inside of us like it would be for a Caster-Type Mage, and since we have no magic of our own to assume direct control over the staff with, we need to find an alternative method. This is that alternative method. It's a form of Sympathy Magic, and works by binding multiple things together until it becomes one thing in multiple parts. Here, it has two uses.

"The first is that it binds the base, the core, and all the lacrima into a single, cohesive whole. Instead of being a handful of crystals, a stick of wood, and a beast's scale, it becomes a staff that just-so-happens to be made up of all those things. This ensures that magic can be passed down from one end to the other and back again without leaking out from the wood like a sieve, so long as you're focused on it.

"And that's the second part. It also binds the staff to the person holding onto it, so instead of being a staff and a person it instead becomes a single being that just-so-happens to be made up of a staff and a person. This means you can control the gateway and amplification lacrima as if they were a part of you, since they _will_ be, and also means the magical container inside of the core becomes _your_ magical container."

I blink. "That's… impressive. If it becomes a part of me, though, why do I need the other lacrima?"

"Because, though it may be yours, it's still the container of an animal. Blizzardverns don't have conscious control of their magic, instead crudely empowering themselves with icy armor and breathing frost entirely instinctively. It doesn't have the, ah, _mutability_ of a human's container, which can do whatever the mage wants it to do. These lacrima help regulate it, imposing order on the chaos while also increasing the strength of its magic and the depth of the power you can draw on."

"…Not bad.'

"Not bad at all, no. Which brings us to the core, and..." He places the scale inside the centermost hollow, then fixes the other half of the staff back on top of it. He beckons for me to pick it up and, once I do, carefully maneuvers the end of his own staff so the tip of it is resting against one half of the sympathy lacrima. "…Done. Any second thoughts? Once we do this, there's no going back."

Deep breath. "I'm ready."

He laughs. "No, you're not. On three. One-"

I can _feel_ a pulse of ghostly magic spark something inside of me, kick-starting a blissful wildfire that sets my newest and strangest limb alight with power. Suddenly starving, I eagerly consume the tiniest fraction of the bountiful magic of Earthland from each end of my wooden body. Feeling it settle and coil around deeper within my essence, I hum and pull it along towards my core, drawing the luminescent magic through the amplifier and pooling it within the scale that beats like a second heart. I can feel the warm magic freeze, but the refreshing chill only makes me shudder in pleasure, as if it were a gentle winter breeze on flushed skin.

Ethernano is the magic of _life._ I knew that, intellectually, but I didn't _know_ it. I couldn't _feel_ it. Now I do, because now I can. It is incredible, and I can't contemplate giving it up. Not for the world. Not for anything. With this power coalescing in my scale, slowly filling my container to the brim with latent energy, I can do anything. Be anyone. Accomplish whatever I want. (Never get hurt again.)

I dip a metaphorical whisk in my magic and swish it around, collecting the icy ethernano in thin, looped string, like cotton candy. With a gentle push, I then extrude the magic right through the ghostwood, coalescing in a faintly luminescent aura around the wooden part of my being. My human eyes can see the white-blue light clear as day, can feel the iciness it radiates drop the temperature in the glade until every breath leaves a plume of condensation in the still air.

A gentle tap of wood on wood sees the branch my Prince and I have been resting on begin to freeze over, a thin layer of frost spreading from the point of contact like ripples in a lake. I press the base against the wood again and again, driving the wintry power deeper into the ancient tree with every tap and immortalizing the life in a shell of ice. One last time, I raise the staff and-

"That's enough, Amity," Prince Jellal says. I jerk back as if struck, looking around and blinking in lost bafflement. Was I…? "I apologize, but I forgot to mention something critical. You may now have the power and primal instinct of a semi-experienced Ice Mage, but you have none of the training, none of the discipline. The power can blind even the best of us, and at times the magic will feel like it's controlling you instead of the other way around. You will need to dedicate a significant amount of time to mastering your staff, lest you hurt yourself and others." He sighs. "Other mages rarely have to deal with a problem like this one, since they learn control at the same rate that their container swells in size and density, but as natives of Edolas we are not so lucky."

"I-it's fine," I stutter. "I… I can learn."

He smiles softly. "I know you can. Give it your all, and I know you can go far."

* * *

 **Freedom: Winter's Fury**

* * *

 **We** spend the rest of the week trekking through the Worth Woodsea, homing in on the guild Prince Jellal chose to leave me at. I spend the time alternating between trying not to kill innocent foliage with my staff and trying to think of a way to convince my prince to take me with him. I am unsuccessful on both counts.

"This life I chose is not something you should want," he explained on the third day when I finally raised the courage to ask, a touch of sorrow coloring his tone. "I will spend long years doing nothing but walk through the countryside, chasing the Anima wherever it leads me, meeting people only to say goodbye to them. I will never make friends I can reveal my face to, never have a family for love or otherwise. I will be a ghost, haunting all of Earthland, and if I die, no one will notice. I… don't want that life for you, Amity."

"I don't want that life for you, either," I say lowly. "Aren't I your friend?"

A hint of a smile. "Friends don't let friends throw their lives away."

"I can say the same to you, my prince."

"This is my purpose in life, Amity. I'm not throwing my life away – I'm… trading it." At my desperate look, he sighs. "I am the Prince of Edolas, Amity. It is my solemn duty to ensure the future of my people is a just and happy one. With my father drunk on power and his army loyal to his word, dispersing his Anima is all I can do. And so, I will continue to do it until the day I die or the kingdom becomes mine. But, more importantly…" He rests a hand on my hair. "You are one of my people, Amity, and it is my duty to make sure _your_ future is a just and happy one, too. Doubly so, for being my friend. I want to bring you along, I do, but… After what you've been through… What you need is a guild full of trust and happiness, not a single, wandering mage. I'm sorry."

In that vein, my attempts to harness the magic of a blizzardvern is, if not more successful, at least less depressing. I've seen Momma botch too many experimental spells to think learning her magic would be easy. I've also heard too many theory debates in my time at the Bureau to be unaware of the basics. Controlling my magic feels like trying to grasp clouds most of the time, but progress is progress and the sensations are too wonderful for the constant failures to be tedious.

"When your magic becomes precise enough to start taking jobs, I'd recommend visiting Era," Prince Jellal tells me after a particularly bad explosion on the fourth day. "That's where the Magic Council is located, and thus where all the best magic shops are. Books aren't quite as good as a specialized teacher, but some instruction and guidelines may prove useful; they have for me. As it is, the only advice I can give you is to focus on the philosophy of winter."

"Thanks, but… what do you mean?"

He waves his staff in the direction of an immense, likely venomous but otherwise normal centipede heading towards us. It immediately turns around and crawls away. "I'm sure you've heard the stereotype that all Fire Mages are hotheaded and passionate, yes? It's actually true, after a fashion. Colored ethernano acts in a way reminiscent of the element it is mimicking, so fiery ethernano is spontaneous, aggressive, and destructive. In other words, it acts like a flame – hot to the touch and always eager to consume the world for more fuel.

"Now, for Earthland mages to begin learning Fire Magic, they need to meditate on the philosophy of fire. And, when they cast Fire Magic, they need to emulate that philosophy to such a degree that they can color the ethernano in their containers with fire. It'll become automatic once they do it enough times, as I mentioned earlier, but not only acting like but being like fire will raise their connection with their magic. This is primarily why Fire Mages grow so much more powerful when they are angry."

"I… see." That explains early-series Natsu. I used to think it was just shōnen-style power-ups, or maybe a Dragon Slayer thing, and while it may be both of those it also just seems to be a Fire Mage thing in general. "What's the philosophy of winter, then? Or, just… ice?"

"I wouldn't know. I've never cast Ice Magic before."

I narrow my eyes. With the kind of next-level education he had as the prince of an empire at its zenith, I heavily doubt he doesn't know. So why won't he tell…? Oh. Right. He wants me to figure it out. Where to start, though? It could be any number of things.

Staff absently twirling in my hands, I start to think. Ice is water that cools beneath a certain temperature, expands, and crystalizes. It can spread and freeze other elements, halting the living and immortalizing the lifeless. More mystically, it can trap life in stasis until it melts and still even the most vibrant of energies. In Norse mythology, it is the Ice rune that corresponds with the gateway between the realms of chaos and creation. Ice represents the stillness that comes after death. It spreads like fire but it doesn't destroy, it preserves.

…Maybe I'm overthinking it? Icy ethernano… it would be like, well, ice. It would be lifeless, eternal, and cold. It would be utterly motionless, spreading not through movement but through freezing all that touches it. Being associated with winter storms, however, it would also be overpowering and tempestuous, an unstoppable, primal force of destruction.

Knowing that, however, doesn't mean I can _be_ that. I don't know where to begin. I don't know if I even want to begin, if it'll twist my personality.

"Don't worry about it so much," Prince Jellal throws in, seeing the anxiousness in my bearing. "All you have to do is meditate on it, and see where it goes. You're not seeking to change, after all, just understand. The most you'll be able to do is amplify the icy parts of your personality, and you'll always be in charge. You'll actually be _less_ likely to hurt yourself or others once you start meditating, since you'll have greater understanding and control over your magic."

Relax, Amity, it'll be fine. "Thank you. For… everything."

He just smiles and changes the subject. He does that often, when I try to explain to him how thankful I am, usually back to magic or, when I reveal a hole in my understanding of the world, to the common knowledge of Earthland. On the seventh day, however, he just hums and looks at me with a disconcerting stare, obviously deep in thought.

"Is there something on my face?" I ask, shifting awkwardly.

"No, no, it's just that…" He bites his lip, a gesture of discomfort I never expected to see my prince make. "I might as well just come out and say it. Did I mention that we have counterparts on Earthland?"

I blink at him. "Wait, what?" I am aware, but only because of an anime I watched twelve years and a murder ago. What does that have to do with… anything, though?

"Edolas and Earthland aren't just separate dimensions, they are parallel worlds. I hadn't realized, not until I saw Fairy Tail on a magazine, but many of the people in our world have reflections of themselves here. They have the same name, the same face, wield the same magics… but they're different. So very different."

I look down. I remember the Ultear of Earthland, and was in turns tearfully sympathetic and horribly envious. She had been dying, after all, and her Momma had no choice but to give her up, and was then tricked into thinking her dead. Earthland's Ur had been loving and caring, but also desperate and loyal.

My story is a little different. Humans in Edolas don't have magical containers, so I wasn't born with the overly powerful one my counterpart has. Without all that magic power, I wasn't tearing myself apart at the seams. What I had instead were migraines, headaches born of having twenty more years of knowledge and memories in my skull than should rightfully be there.

But I was getting _better._ I was healing. As I grew older, my mind expanded and I became able to process and comprehend more of my past life. My headaches had been reduced to a monthly thing by the time I turned ten, and by eleven I had all-but forgotten what they were like. There had been no point to giving me away _._ I had acted like I had brain damage more often than not when I was seven and she gave me to the Bureau, but I wasn't _dying._

The answer was as simple as it was heartbreaking. In Earthland, Ur cared for family more than power. In Edolas, she couldn't say the same. I had been defective and thus a sub-par apprentice – I remember vividly my failure to control her magic weapons – and so she sold me and found new children to teach. Lyon and Gray.

I hate them all.

"What's your point?" I ask roughly, after a long minute of contemplation.

"We'll have to go masked," was the slow answer. "I've heard… rumors, about a tyrant on an island with blue hair and a mark like mine. The odds of yours also being a dark mage are slim, but even if she's not, being confused for her will draw attention to your own origins. We have no paperwork in this world, no legal identity and no allies to vouch for us. We'll need to play the mystery card like our lives depend on it if we want to get far, because they just might."

A pause. "It's a good thing I have a new name, then, huh? Now, all I need are allies."

"That won't be a problem. We're almost there."

Prince Jellal proved tight-lipped as to what 'there' was, but I knew it had to be a guild of some kind. The Worth Woodsea wasn't anywhere near Magnolia, if I recall correctly, so I knew it wasn't Fairy Tail. Before the whole Acnologia thing, the only other Fiore guilds I can recall are Lamia Scale, Blue Pegasus, and Phantom Lord. It wasn't the last one either, since it was close enough to Fairy Tail for their war to be over in a day or two.

I hope it's not Lamia Scale. If Lyon joins my guild, I'm quitting. The bishōnen of Blue Pegasus would make much nicer guildmates than the counterpart of my replacement. I know it's childish to blame him for Momma's shallow standards, but I'm a childish person. I'm also small and bitter, like an angry coffee bean.

Then my prince halts in his tracks, twisting to look East with a look of frustration in his eyes. "Tch, not now…" His eyes slide to me, and he sighs, ruffling my hair and freeing it from the ponytail I had put it in. For once, I can't muster the energy to scowl or fix it, instead staring into his eyes with my own wide, dark orbs.

"Is it…?"

"An Anima. Almost nine days' travel away. I'll have to leave now and run quickly if I want to make it." He pauses. "I'm sorry."

I just… stare.

He pulls me into a tight hug, but I don't return it, standing tall, cold, and unmoving like one of the ice sculptures I've spent all week trying to make. "Take care of yourself, okay, Amity?" he breathes into my hair. "Find a dream and pursue it to the ends of the earth. Make a friend and give them their heart. And… never forget your name."

He pulls back, hands on each of my shoulders, a look of sympathy in his eye. My only response is to pull the heavy, dark blue robe he gave me what seems like forever ago tighter around my thin frame. He's not getting it back.

"Take this," he says, and slips a white-blue crystal no larger than a gumball into the pocket of my new coat. My hand lashes out and grips his wrist tight before he can remove it. "It's a recording lacrima. It'll project the contents of my staff magic books onto a flat surface, like a wall or a plate. I recommend scribing down the important parts, and… please let go, Amity."

I shake my head, staring intently at the leaf-strewn ground. He sighs again.

"Amity. We'll meet again someday. Until then… take care."

A long moment passes before I realize the warmth of his skin under mine is just an illusion, and by then, Prince Jellal is long gone.

* * *

 **Freedom: Prison Break**

* * *

 **I** don't leave for my new guild right away, like I should. Joining a guild means talking to people, and talking to people requires effort, energy, and a damn to give, none of which I have right now.

I decide to focus on something simple and immediate instead. Something important, but not particularly so. Something that needs to be done for convenience's sake. Something mindless and tedious. I decide to search for the hair tie that Prince Jellal keeps knocking out of my hair. It's a simple thing I made out of twine, but I need it.

My hip-length violet hair keeps swinging in front of my face and getting in my eyes. It's an annoyance.

The only reason my hair is so long is because the Bureau was somewhat lacking in hairdressers, and I wasn't allowed sharp objects I could use for cutting things. As a result, my hair looks more like a Victorian window curtain than a hairstyle, and every gust of wind makes it attempt murder via smothering. I'd've cut it myself with one of my prince's knives, but I'll be damned if my counterpart is prettier than me. I will be the best Ultear. I have my pride.

But I can't find the damn tie, and I'm starting to get desperate. I manifest some of the magic in my scale as a knife of ice and catch it before it can break against the ground. It's an ugly thing, jagged and with a malformed handle, but it's sharp and that's all I need. I lower it and begin to cut.

The lower hem of my new robe comes loose in a ribbon of dark blue cloth, nearly two feet of it, soft and shiny. My prince's clothing looks more like a tunic than a full-body overcoat by the end of it, but sacrifices are sometimes necessary. I'm sure he'd understand, since the loss of my hair tie is his own fault.

I spend an hour in front of a pond that was supposed to be a mirror of ice, staring into my reflection and trying different hairstyles. It feels good to be a simple girl again, after my rebirth, after the Bureau. I'll need a professional haircut done once I come into some money, but it's amazing what a girl can do with a ribbon and some patience.

I come out of the session with a hairstyle that I don't hate, which is an accomplishment. Maybe it's the simplicity of it that appeals to the jailbreaker in me. It takes some effort to knot the ribbon like a bowtie at the back of my skull, and I have to repeat the process a few times when the long tails of cloth left over are uneven, but by the end of it I have successfully bound my hair back in a way that defies the wind. It looks rather cute, too, which is not a word I have used to describe myself in five years.

Most importantly, it keeps my hands and mind occupied until night falls and Prince Jellal's departure doesn't sting quite so much. Then, I run out of convenient excuses to push off social contact. It'll be nice to sleep in a bed again, though. Maybe I can push off the initiation or whatever until the morning? I'm sure I can argue exhaustion pretty well. All I need to do is fall asleep on someone.

When I reach the crest of a hill and finally see the guild hall, though, all exhaustion is cleared from my mind. I may not remember much of the anime, but some things just stick. Things like an entire guild comprised of nothing more than an old ghost's illusion.

This… is not going to work. I can't accumulate power in a guild that doesn't exist. I can't become untouchable in a place like Cait Shelter. I can't.

I'll leave. I'll track down Phantom Lord or Blue Pegasus or maybe even Sabertooth. I'll find a strong guild to grow in. But, first…

I need directions, and food, and maybe a bed for the night. I sigh. This is going to be a trial. Here's to hoping I don't punch the lying Nirvana guy in the face. Making a little girl love you and the life you gave her, then revealing it was all a lie… Yeah, I can relate.

* * *

 **Freedom: Prison Break**

* * *

 _An entire chapter on the make-believe mechanics of Staff Magic. That's just how I roll._

 _3 reviews, guys._


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